Revamped
by AlFlowerrise
Summary: What if Near was Kira? What if Misa was L and tried to catch him? Wouldn't she suck? Matt is Misa, will he have any success with Near? This is the story where six characters roles are changed. Pairings: MattNear, LLight, MisaLight.
1. Near the Kira

N/A: What is this you ask? Well, I was bored yesterday and came up with this idea: what if the characters switched places and earned another role than the one they had in the manga and anime? What if Misa was Kira? What if Matt was L? Yeah, you get the idea. Before I started on this project I wrote the names of the characters on a paper and later put them in a hat so the roles were sorted out random—more fun that way! Then I had to work with the roles I had and below you will see the complete list :)

The old roles are on the right and the new on the left:

Light Yagami/Kira: Near

L: Misa Amane (lol!)

Misa Amane: Matt (yes, Matt is in love with Near in this)

Mello: L

Matt: Mello

Near: Light Yagami

I'm going to try to keep them in character even though they are in complete different situations. Also, I'm not gonna bother too much trying to explain _why _for example Light chose to be a successor to Misa (that sounds sooo wrong xd) or trying to be logical about Matt's attraction to Near. Also, I'm not gonna use Light Yagami's and Misa Amane's full names—they're unknown—because it wouldn't be fun if Near could just kill them off. Also, I know that Near didn't approve with Kira's motive in the manga but that's why this is going to be so fun. The story's gonna start with six chapters when every characters get their screen-time before Light's quest of catching the evil Near begins. Why Near chose to be Kira? I'm not really sure if I know either. I hope you like this fic, it's not the most serious I have written but I need a break from my more serious fics and if know myself I (maybe) will be a more frequent updater if I have more stories in progress. I suck at sticking to one story solely after all. Thank you for reading this enormous author's note and I hope you tell me what you think of this. Also, the first chapter won't be so funny because Near is almost impossible to write funny if you want to keep him in character. He lives in London by the way—I think I have the right to change a little from the original—while the rest come from Japan. Matt is from London like Near but moved to Japan before Near finds his notebook. I'm also gonna swamp Misa's childhood with Matt's. And I don't think Near will kill Misa, I will find another solution.

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><p><strong>Revamped<strong>

Chapter 1: Near the Kira

—|—

Near was an extremely bored person. He lived a life that followed the same pattern every single day, from the hour he woke up to the hour he slammed his face into the pillow and he thought it was enough, that he was content but he really wasn't. For every jigsaw he tugged together in this puzzle of life he understood that he had walked out from the sphere where everyone else was and spent time in another world. Nothing challenged him. His brain could spit out logical lines and keys to equations in a velocity that left no time for pleasure—it was fact and fact left no time for emotions. Emotions didn't exist in his vocabulary; it was a word he could form with his lips but it didn't mean anything. He thought emotions were for the real people, imbecile morons that followed dress-codes, blew bubbles with gums and put curses between words but somehow he knew he was one of them too. He couldn't wait for something to happen. He had to _use _his intelligence, he had to create entertainment, not waiting for it. He waited in fifteen years, it was enough now.

Near didn't like the outside world. He wasn't particularly afraid of it—he knew that you couldn't die of sunrays—but it never interested him, almost like nothing in particular interested him. The green plains and colorful flowers were beautiful but Near had never been amused by pretty things. Beauty lay in mathematic formulas and numbers and riddles, not in pretty paintings and social intercourses. Also, he didn't like fresh air, it felt like someone pumped air in him until he was going to explode like a balloon. People said that you needed fresh air but he didn't. He didn't need anything.

Well, okay, that was a lie, today he actually _did _need something and that something was a new pensile. Usually, these pathetic dilemmas weren't even a issue since his teachers always seemed to deliver everything he needed to him like he wasn't capable of walking to an affair and bring money our from his pocket himself and for him it was perfectly fine because even with his overactive brain he still was a child that couldn't take his own decisions. He pushed his problem onwards, ignored them, stated them as useless and it spun around in a circle that couldn't break. He sat in his room and did nothing and life spun around without him. But he couldn't drift away in the clouds today, he had a purpose and how ridiculous it even sounded he liked the fact he had something to do. He shoved his pale hands in his pockets and walked onwards, walked out in the grass that bathed in warm sunlight and a butterfly skipped past face, thin wings touching the bridge of his nose.

Those who knew Near had learned to accept him—even though it was rather difficult—as he was but foreigner, people with glued prejudges saw a child with perhaps a autistic syndrome, perhaps a disorder, something that was different, not like it should. Near refused to wear shoes, he hated shoes; shoes trapped his feet and gifted him with chafed feet. Also, since he barely left the school he lived in, it wasn't necessary to grow fond of shoes. He wandered with his white socks that didn't protect his soles from the burning asphalt, however he found the pain rather thrilling, to feel anything, anything at all. More things that put him under the headline "strange?" Well, he had plenty. He walked around outside with a pajamas, he had hair white as snow and eyes black and piercing. His legs were fragile and could barely lift him up when he walked so—as he stalked away to the affair to buy the stupid pensile—he looked like an old man without a rod which rewarded him with more glares. Near wasn't a sensitive person, more like empty of emotions like a turned bowl, but he didn't really appreciate those glares like he was an animal in a cage displayed solely to feed the visitors' excitement.

He was now standing on a field, a field expanding as long as the eye could reach, with grass that painted his socks green. With one hand in his pocket and the other one looping a twig in his hair he watched this and pondered the question why he didn't think this was beautiful. It _was _beautiful, if you would ask someone else then it was the inevitable answer, but he couldn't see it. He couldn't find beauty, he could only find the black. He was so bored. Bored and empty and vain. Being too intelligent did that to you.

"Why the hell are you wearing a pajamas?" a girl with a mask of make-up snorted as she passed by with her suntanned legs exposed by a pair of hotpants. Near said nothing. What was there to say? He didn't know? He wore his pajamas because it was a familiar attribute? He wore his pajamas because it was comfortable? There, she had her answers.

He ignored the girl—he was very talented at ignoring people—and swept down in the grass, placing his chin on the back of his hands as he lay down, wiggling with his feet and thought about nothing. The sun touched his neck and he found himself strangely drowsy and the wind that played gently through his hair and swept over his skin felt nice. He crawled forward in an attempt of trying to see what lie on the other side of the plain and found himself bruising his elbow across something.

In front of him lay a notebook with black covers, surrounded by the pink flowers, looking awfully misplaced. Still, there was something with the book that awaked Near's attention and he leaned down and touched the frame with his fingertips, then felt a chilling blow through his stomach as fragment passed by his eyes and carefully ingrained in his mind. The next moment it was over. What had happened? Near didn't know much about notebooks but he knew this; you shouldn't get a feeling of science fiction when you touched one. With one hand still looping around his hair he touched the book again and nothing happened. Was he only imagining things? He shook his head; no. He wasn't a dreaming person. He thought much but always knew where he was. But he didn't now.

He smiled a little, just a brief movement. Interesting. He stuck his finger under the cover, felt the raspy material and opened the book. Nothing. Well, there _were _pages but you should expect that from a notebook but nothing extraordinary. The pages were a little tainted by yellow but not much and the lines where thin and carefully placed throughout the page. Still, there was something about this book that made him close it again, lift it up and carry it as he walked to the affair to buy the pensile. He didn't know what and usually he wasn't the one that was interested in concrete things like this but he guessed that even he was a little curious on the inside. People dropped the funniest of things but this was something else. What if something happened if he wrote in it?

He couldn't wait to find out.

—|—

_Near finds nothing emotional about death. Death exists and it exists for everyone. No one can toy with fate, no one can toy with death. But it is different now. He holds the key of death in his hands as he moves his fingers across the damped cover, trying to find the essence of the book. The key? But does he want to use it?_

_He doesn't even know. _

—|—

Near returned to his school in the center of London—the city where crime was a habit, while graffiti was the natural way of showing different cultures—about one hour later and he chose to skip his class in math—he never did that usually—and returned straight to his room in the far end of the corridor snailing around the school-building. He could probably blame his absence on sickness or something; his teachers didn't really care as long as he scored well on the exams. His room looked like if a tornado had been invited inside the walls and he found himself not caring about the mess at all. Caring was unnecessary, caring made you weak, caring made you vulnerable to humans' selfish wishes. Near wasn't weak, at least he wasn't going to show it. His toys—yes, he still played with toys—lay in a mess in the centre and he walked passed them and sat down on a chair in front of his laptop in his usual position, with one knee nudging the chin and the other swinging down the pad. After a useless attempt of having a staring contest with the book he opened it again and skipped through every page, devoutly trying to find the secret.

At the last page he did.

Nailed on the cover was a note and on the note several sentences—rules—were written in a snarly handwriting painted in white, dancing across the page. He read the page and found himself oddly confused. This didn't make any sense. These rules certainly hovered above the edge to the unreal and were probably just another foolish joke to enlighten someone's boredom. However, and here it did get existing, this was an ambitious piece of work, from the design of the notebook to the creativity of the rules and he knew that humans in general didn't like to put effort in vain.

_The human whose name is written in this note shall die. _

_This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person's face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected. _

Interesting. Near flicked his hair as he read the rest of the rules and tried to analyze them with his concrete brain. But there was nothing logical about this, it was surrealistic and he had never been interested in their art. On the other side, though, this may be the chance to bring some life in his gray life, stroking the pensile across the gray background and made it in color. Death didn't mean anything to him after all, nor the fact that if he used this notebook he would neither go to heaven or hell. He simply didn't care, it didn't matter, nothing mattered.

While moving the newly bought pensile in circles he wondered whose name he should write in the notebook. He could write a name of a classmate but that was probably unwise and besides, he found no pleasure in killing innocent people. It had to be someone that deserved to die, like someone that found it funny to end innocent lives. He moved down the remote from the shelf above him and turned on the television with the reason to find a channel that showed lawsuits live. Being the not normal teenager that he was he wasn't the most frequent zapper so it took an eternity to zap through channels with extremely boring tennis-matches and anothers with cars that had one hundred laps to go in the race—wasn't that an issue for the global warming?—until he found one that looked promising. The camera was place from above so the view wasn't exactly the best as you could only see the heads like small particles moving around the chamber. Near leaned closer and ignored the staining pain the pixels gave him and tried to hear the name of the criminal. Suddenly the camera shifted ankle and he started right into a face with more wrinkled skin than an unironed shirt and eyes blue and unemotional. Apparently this was just a walk in the park for him and it sent a chilling down Near's spine, mostly due to the egoistic reason that the man reminded of himself.

"Mark Smith, accused for the murder committed ten years ago of Candace and Peter Jeevas, do you have something to add?"

Mark Smith simply moved his shoulder with no sign of regret, or even the simplest flick of remote for the fact that he had quenched someone's life. Nothing. "I did not commit the crime," he said and moved a hand across his chestnut-colored hair.

He had. That was certain. Near looked down at the empty pages of the "Death Note" and clenched his fingers around the red pensile. Should he? Once he had he couldn't go back. Besides, this would probably not even work. Then he could blame himself for being absorbed by illogical measures that only spilled his time.

He imagined the face of the accused killer and wrote down _Mark Smith _in the left corner of the book with his stubby handwriting that looked like ill-made daub. He put down the pensile on the table and waited. Near could win a medal in the Olympics in waiting, too bad it wasn't a legal branch in the games.

Then something peculiar happened.

In front of the publics' eyes the criminal started to choke, but it wasn't a normal choke, it was bigger and his cheeks received blood-red apples and saliva dripped over his face to his black shirt. Someone screamed "get help and turn off the fucking camera" and the entertainment was over. He changed channel and watched the news on the television, soon to be rewarded with the piece of news he knew he had created.

Mark Smith was dead, killed with Near's own fingers even though he wasn't even there. It felt strange, an emotion he couldn't describe filled his veins and he wondered if he shouldn't feel more. Was he like Smith? No. However, and this stung a little, Near had killed to _test a notebook_. Smith's death was a test. Where was the justice in that?

Still, it was too late to show remorse now. Near signed and closed the book, fully aware that he now was bonded with it with a string so hard it couldn't be cut. So much for his boredom. But now he had a purpose. What if he continued to kill off criminals that weren't going to have the penalty they deserved and became feared of the world but still admired by those who found advantages with his plan?

What if?

Near turned around in an attempt to watch his toys and see if they could give him the answer. Toys, in all their cold material and inability to use words, often gave him concrete notion and a chance to test his theories and see if they were logical or just stupid. But today that didn't worked, he didn't find himself staring with his deep eyes at his familiar and only friends, he started right into a creature with great resemblance of a jester. Near moved back but only slightly—he wasn't particularly afraid of this turn of events but he never liked surprises. This creature—was it a Shinigami?—had round, yellow eyes with a piercing stare that could melt iron and an extreme up-nose and black lips. The hairstyle reminded Near of those rock-bands that supported themselves by crying out their pain and was dyed in the same color—black—as the leather clothes that was glued around his body like a snake-skin.

The creature let out a chuckle as the staring contest continued—Near didn't want to start the conversation but the Shinigami didn't look like he was going to leave him alone before he had his share of the treat. Near wasn't stupid, of course this had something to do with the notebook and that Near used it.

"Heh, nice to meet you," the Shinigami said, probably dead tired of Near's silence. "My name is Ryuk."

Near heightened his knee so his teeth clenched together. "Hello. Are you a Shinigami?"

Ruyk grinned and run a long nail through his magpie's nest of a hair. "Very bright, are you?"

"You don't look human," Near deadpanned, immune to any dose of sarcasm as usual. Ryuk seemed to find this amusing. Near didn't.

"Huyk, Huyk, that was the most obvious statement I have heard today. I'm a death god though and I'm bonded to that notebook and since you used it I'm bonded to you."

Near said nothing. Ruyk's chuckle grew louder and filled the room like a never-ending echoing. "Interesting," he finally said even though there was nothing interesting about this. The notebook was interesting, but not this irritating Shinigami.

"I have three questions to ya, little dude," Ruyk said and swept closer and his peculiar appearance made Near swallow and wish he could push him away. "First, what's your name?"

The lump in Near's throat grew larder and got stuck against the walls. "Near."

"Only Near?"

"No."

The Shinigami grinned. "Why not telling me your full name? Think I will write it down in the Death Note and kill you?"

"It never hurts to be careful." That was the longest sentence he had spitted out today.

"It surely doesn't. Second question; will you kill again?"

"Does it bother you if I do?"

"Not particularly, but it will be more interesting if you do."

"Interesting? You find pleasure in murders?"

"No," Ryuk told him and nudged Near's chin with one nail. "I find _humans _interesting. Like you, Near."

"Why? I'm not the most entertaining of humans."

"'It's always the quiet ones'," he quoted and swept away again, gazing around the room as like he was searching for something. "Look at you, Near, you're boring and transparent and vain and it was still you who took the notebook. Why?"

"I tested it."

"You want to test it again?"

"Probably."

"Hehehe, excellent. I think I will stick with you for a while."

Near pulled one sleeve over one of his hands to entertain his fingers. "I see."

"You don't want me here?"

"Not really but I assume you won't be listening to me."

Ruyk laughed. "Smart kid you are. No, I'm not going to listen to you. I'm different from you, I can do what I want and right now I will wait and see what you're going to do next. Oh, the third question."

"Yes, Ruyk," Near signed, still sick of the thought of having this death god follow him like an obsessed stalker.

"Do you have apples?"

"Apples?"

"It's a round fruit that can be either red or green—"

"Ruyk," he interrupted with his monotone voice and received another chuckle. Was Ruyk only toying with him? He probably was. "I think there are apples in the kitchen but I'm not allowed to just walk in there and steal them."

"Heh, don't worry about that. I can take them."

Near reached for the pensile on the table and started spinning it around again. "Is that really wise? It's not necessary to scare the pupils in this school to death by heart attacks."

"You don't find me very attractive, do you?"

"No," Near said.

"Not very tactful, are we Near? But you don't need to worry about that. Humans can't see me. Only you can. Find it a gift from this kind death god." He laughed again and swayed out of the room, through the blue wallpaper.

Near turned around and faced the book again, pondering again if he regretted writing in it. This started something he couldn't walk away from. Like the handwriting that was edged in the paper said, one kill was enough and it still didn't stop him. He was a killer now, how absurd it even sounded and there was nothing he could do to erase his crime. He even had an annoying Shinigami following him like a puppy that found his personality—or lack thereof—amusing. And with the lack of remorse for the kill of Smith this could escalate into something he couldn't stop.

He could continue or he could stop. Near circled his fingers hard around the pencile and opened another page.

—|—

_Near receives no personal gain from this and the lack of emotions makes him dangerous and he knows this himself. He knows that he does and he knows that he does wrong. But what can he do? He gives the murderers' victims justice, he gives them relief. Isn't that something admirable?_

_Probably._

—|—

When Ruyk returned with a pile of blood-red apples Near had killed three more. Ruyk only chuckled.

—|—

fin


	2. Misa the Number One

N/A: The second chapter of this story and now is the time for Misa to show what she's got (which is not much) in the case of catching Kira. Hope you like this (: Oh, Wammy's does exist but it lies in Japan now. Also, in the original manga/anime Watari works with L and therefore now works with Misa, how strange that even sounds. If you have questions, ask me away as this thing could be pretty confusing, I know (: If there are any grammar mistakes-which I think it is because I haven't beta'd this one-be sure to tell me so I can fix them.

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><p>Chapter 2 - Misa the Number One (or is she?)<p>

—|—

Misa Amane—who went solely with the name Misa, or MisaMisa to enhance her cuteness—wasn't exactly the sharpest knife in the shelf but she held the mind of someone that was completely blunt about her faults and used her charm instead to get somewhere. It worked better than you could think and she wasn't here by random, she _had _completed cases, she _had _come with the keys that opened the locks, only with strategies that seemed more based on luck than skill.

And this case was not an exception. The difference was that she couldn't fail on this one.

Not that she would, she thought and let a girly giggle escape from her lipgloss-drenched lips, blonde hair swimming down her spine. She wouldn't. She would show the rest in Wammy's, that saw her through glasses with adverse glass, a blonde airhead that was far too occupied with testing pink dresses that resembled cake more than dress and running to different hairdressers to dye her hair blonde to be the mind that could scale off Kira's defenses and reveal his interior to the public. Misa wasn't the one to get angry easy but her successors—even the name made her sound like someone that could be replaced, just like that, just like nothing—only seemed to _wait _for their time to move into the spotlight.

To be honest, she mused and looked into the mirror on the desk dyed in pretty pink, she didn't care much about one of them but more about the other one. L was a freak and she didn't have time to care about freaks. L was superior when it came to brainpower, sure, however his complete lacks of norms and normality made Misa only snort and ignore him with the same amount of passion as when she ignored natural catastrophes and politics. L was no hindrance, L was no misadventure and she knew that his odd personality made both Watari and Roger distrust his use on the battlefield.

Misa Amane was a goddess when it came to suck gossips from her weekly-delivered girl-magazine that contained two of her favorite things; hot boys and clothes.

Well, the first was at least something that could melt her sanity to a wet puddle.

Hot boys.

But as far as her mind reached she only needed one.

Light.

The other successor. The other successor with a face so pretty and a body so hot and a mind so raw, it made her blind. It probably sounded strange to be attracted to one that could kick you out from the field when you weren't of use anymore but that was exactly what she was to Light.

Light, Light, Light. She didn't have time to think about him but she surely had time to dream about him.

That was her favorite hobby after all, even more than her love to dresses and colorful make-up.

Right. She had a mission. Misa leaned back in her pink chair and clicked her thin hands behind her neck as he stretched out one bar leg and wiggled her pink toes. The room she was in—she had styled it herself of course, something else would have been inappropriate—was like a paradise of pink, of a girl that favored the truly girl-color and still couldn't truly leave her boy-band crushes or Christina Aguilera's hot lips in blood-red color behind.

Yes, she was looking outside the edges of Japan. To the fame in Hollywood. Misa was not content at being at the top, she wanted higher than that.

To the sky. Where she could look down and drown in her admires' attention, in their desire to touch her, to be with her, to reach her. Then she could be more than she already was and if she was then Light could finally see her. Because he didn't now.

It was rather sad.

But no! Misa wasn't going to give up now. Someday he would see her, someday he would want her, someday. That pretty boy couldn't escape for much longer now, she would throw the net over him and claim victory. They could give L a red card and send him to the bench and they could be the world's top ranked detectives together.

With that thought ingrained in her small mind she smiled broadly with the edges to her ears the phone rang and she clenched it between her ear and shoulder.

This "Matsuda" seemed just like another one of these obsessed stalkers she'd come to know since she started her whole detective career but she did not complain as she somewhat lived for drowning in attention. Her ability was to charm, not to think per say. She could probably charm her suspects to acknowledgement if she only looked deeply enough in their eyes with her own milk chocolate-colored ones. That was how her first case went at least.

_Has Misa-san considered that her suspects confess their crimes because they will not survive a minute more in her company? _

The worst thing about L's comment wasn't the comment itself—it seemed like criticize her was one of his odd hobbies—but the snicker that escaped from Light's lips. It made her cheeks burn with shame and her eyes fill with tears.

Light should _not _laugh at her! He should love her! And he would. She was not going to give the victory to a black-haired freak with eyes deeper than wells, with eyes that contained nothing. Empty as a teenager's—at least one that liked to spend her money on alcohol—wallet, at least for her eyes.

Neither of them were going to have the case delivered to them if she had something to say. Not that easy.

Talking about cases, she really should pay attention to Matsuda. She giggled a little and asked him to repeat the question, while multitasking with a holder of black mascara with the promise to make her eyelashes "long and inviting." Pfft, like she ever would need _that_.

But that wasn't the point here, Matsuda was.

"So, Matsuda," she chimed in the handset and unscrew the top of the mascara, "you mean that you want Misa to accompany you and your crew in this Kira-case?"

"Yes! Well, _I _want it of course, I dunno about the other guys but we haven't got any luck up to the present and I don't think we will without you, Misa!"

She painted her lashes black, flirted with the mirror and pulled down the cleavage of the pink shirt with one finger until she could see the inviting cleft. The crew didn't stand a chance, she was going to charm herself in.

Oh right. Matsuda. Damn, Misa, you had to focus or else you could never be number one.

Wait, she already was number one? Her bad.

"Misa is glad you think that, Matsuda! She hopes that the cooperation will work very well! Are you statured in Kyoto right now? Can you explain why you have chosen to work from there?"

Apparently Matsuda was more interested in pouring compliments over her like sprinkles over an ice-cream than answering questions. Being popular had its disadvantages. "Yeah, we work from there. But I HAVE to tell you this, it's an honor to be able to speak with you in person! I sure need something cute to clash in this hole of muttering colleges!"

She smiled a little and reached for her comb—pink of course—on the desk, combing through blonde milfoils soft like a kitten's fur, but longer. He was funny and also the youngest in the crew and she probably had to cling to him if she didn't want to get too bored during her working season. But she knew one thing—she wouldn't be here if she didn't have _some _ability of preclusion—and that was that she wasn't going to get anything useful out from this guy.

"Misa likes your compliments," she purred and she _did_ and thought he needed to hear it, "but I think,"—she used first person when she wanted to prove a point—"that I need to talk to your chief about the information you have of the case so far."

She could imagine him pout to the air after her comment. Her smile got a little wider. "Aw, why can't I explain it to you?"

"Because you distract me," she explained with an unusually low voice that only worked on fans and she could almost hear him melt to a puddle, slip from the chair to the floor. "We can talk more when Misa gets to Kyoto and can help you with the case."

With that promise Matsuda chipped a good-bye and passed away the phone to chief Yagami.

Misa didn't know much about Soichiro Yagami but she came to understand this; he was a great man to talk to if you wanted information.

"Hello, Misa," he greeted her with a dry, professional voice that reminded her of Watari; her assistant and right hand who got to do the dirty work when she was too busy battling her eyelashes and reading magazines. It was also Watari who managed to make her understand that she was a deer in the headlight in her position and that she had to put safety on the first train. Not that she thought someone would bother to kill her, in all honestly, since no one seemed to take her seriously. All part of plan.

"Hi!" she greeted back and heard Watari stuff some clothes in a briefcase on the feminine bed behind him. _He _was probably just as enshusiastic to leave their headquarters—she really didn't bother with spending time at Wammy's anymore—and spare his eyes from all the pink facet.

"It's a pleasure to speak to you in person," Yagami said in a polite manner and she could spot some laughing sounds in the other end of the phone. Probably Matsuda, he looked like someone that could laugh even with a bullet in his arm. "I have heard a lot about you, Misa. BE QUIET, MATSUDA!"

Matsuda did become quiet. "My, thank you! That makes Misa happy!" She later understood that there was no use trying to charm off the skin of the chief as he was as dry as too-old bread and skipped the third person. "But before I come to you I need to know some things about the case. When did it start?"

It sounded like the man was skipping through pages in his files, trying to retell the information without any flaws. Not that it did matter, Misa's primary skill wasn't recording important information anyway. "The case did start for about three months ago in London, which lies far away from Japan but we believe that the murders there and the murders here in Japan are too similar to not have a connection. In any case, it started with the murder of a killer with the name Mark Smith, which occurred under the lawsuit for his crimes on Mr and Mrs Jeevas—"

"Wait," she interrupted and slung a notebook open and wrote down notes. "This Mars Smith, he was a killer?"

She could her Yagami clear his troat but chose not to investigate the case _why_? because it clearly would give her the answer she wasn't looking for; didn't you know that?

"Yes, he indeed was. But he didn't receive his penalty, instead he died of a heart attack."

She whisteled and wiggled with her toes once more. This sounded like NCIS, more so, like a fantasy novel. She had always been interested in stuff that sounded too extreme to be real. This sounded too extreme to be real. But it was real. She had heard of it—you couldn't really avoid it and that was the reason L and Light's studies were so harsh now, so that they could succeed where she didn't. Her fingers clenched harder to the phone. Yeah, they could think that if they wanted. But she had the ball and wasn't going to pass it away to either of them. Or maybe Light. Eventually.

"But it could have been just a coincidence?" she asked innocently.

"Yes, but all the murders after the one on Smith look exactly the same, with a few exceptions. Some of these heart attacks have been spotted in jails, some under lawsuits, some before. But they all have one thing in common and that's why we treat the case like this—the victims are criminals."

"Can I input a question? Doesn't this mean some people out there will think of this killer as righteous?"

"Probably. But that doesn't matter to us, does it? I personally don't think killing criminals is the right way to change this world penalty system. He spares them pain. But that's not important. Let me continue.

The murders escalated from the first but only to a certain amount before they stopped. We haven't found out why yet but all the reports from the police in London is certain—the heart attacks stopped. Completely. Until they started again here in Japan."

"Excuse me for putting my own personal opinion on this but doesn't that mean that we have to deal with two killers?"

Silence. She smirked to herself and played with her soft hair. Yagami certainly hadn't expected her to come up with something this important with only a few jigsaws. "That… is what we are presuming as well," he said and coughed. "Another reason shouldn't be possible."

"Why? Maybe he just took a break and then started again?"

"The murders in Japan are different," Yagami told her. "They are more unstructured, more done by random. Kira in London seems to be extremely intelligent, structured and doesn't leave evidence behind like the one here does. Yesterday we got a report that one of the victims had written 'Kira is Justice' on the wall with his own blood which tells us more about Kira number two than he would probably like."

"Kira" was the title the world used to describe the murders. She liked the ring to it, the title, it fitted him. She was hocked to fancy titles like that, she wanted one too. More than number one. It sounded boring.

"So you guys are attempting to catch the one here in Japan and try to walk that way to the other one?"

"That is the solely plan we have for the moment. Maybe it doesn't work but it's worth a try. Kira number two could just probably be a admirer but they may also have a more personal relationship and therefore is the key we need."

"That sounds great, chief," she exclaimed and rubbed bright red rouge on her cheeks, making her look more cute than strawberry cake.

Take _that _L. She was sweeter than his cake _ever _would be. And she was real.

But Light would make a damn good cake as well. They together would.

Naughty thoughts aside she focused on the phone again. Her mind was awfully interested in visiting the clouds today and that could make her sound unprofessional. In a case with several killers it wasn't an advantage, not at all.

"However, there is something I need to inform you about before you come here. I don't mean to sound rude, or make you sound like you don't know your work but I insist on the fact that the more the merrier."

Where was the man heading now? "Misa doesn't understand," she said and let the third person slip out from her lips again. Ah, well.

"We have hired a student from London—the most intelligent student in the school that is—to help us solve the case. His name is Near."

"Near? Who names their child Near? Don't they understand the puns that could be made?"

Misa actually made Yagami snicker which was probably a hard thing. "His name is not Near but he calls himself that. And I don't think his name is the important fact here, is it? When you arrive tomorrow, Misa, he will already be here and I hope you two can cooperate to catch this idiot."

She didn't know what to think about this. Of course it _could _be fun to work together with someone, but if that someone was a genius that probably wanted the honor by himself she was not going to make it easy for him. To show herself worthy in Light's eyes she needed to claim the victory alone. But still, she could use this Near for her own purpose. If he was as smart as Yagami thought he was then he could come up with strings that she could spin along with and reach the goal. It didn't sound too bad.

"Okay! I will get along with him. Do you know anything about him?"

"Not much," the man admitted with his voice low. "Only that he had gain prices in physics and mathematic and are like a living calculator."

Physics? The word tasted bad on her tough and she made a grimace to the air. She hated physics. The only reason she'd got good grades in the subject was because she sat with a brown-haired boy with round glasses that never bothered to cover his tests.

"He sounds boring," she said before she stopped herself and that comment didn't rise her in Soichiro Yagami's eyes. Not that it mattered. "But alright. I can deal with it. See you tomorrow then!"

She hung up and placed her legs on the desk.

"Watari!" she called even thought he was right behind her. "Massage my feet!"

She cackled for herself. It was too easy to use assistance for the hard work.

Tomorrow was the day when she finally had the chance to show Light was she had. And she had to do it. As long as her black eyelashes and pink lips and high heels allowed her.

She had to take what was rightfully hers.

The victory. And him.

—|—

to be continued


End file.
